


sirensong

by unhappyrefrain



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters: Black & White | Pokemon Black and White Versions
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Light Dom/sub, M/M, Piano Sex, Voice Kink, but like rly light, can you tell i love sub touya, my god this is so self-indulgent i'm so sorry, thats it thats literally all it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 03:19:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4419188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unhappyrefrain/pseuds/unhappyrefrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I have to say,” N grins, as he leans Touya against the lid of the piano, “it did have an interesting key change to it.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	sirensong

**Author's Note:**

> i'm sorry but i'm also not

Touya trembles at the piano.

Here, the night feels crystal through the wall-height windows, dusk sinking down onto the earth. Touya's face is glowing in the half-light from the city outside, and at this angle he can see a certain glint in N's eyes that thrills him, terrifies him.

N's in that kind of a mood, Touya thinks, but he scoots over on the piano bench to allow N to sit down. N gives a thin, enigmatic smile.

"Aren't we going to play together?" Touya asks, fidgeting, crossing and uncrossing his legs.

"Not now. I want you to play."

"Huh?"

"And I want you to keep playing. Until the song is done. Don't stop playing. I want to hear you."

"N... what are you planning?"

"Touya." It's a regal, commanding voice, soft yet filled with authority. The quiet edict of a king. "Let me hear your song."

Touya's breath shakes at the sound of N's voice. He settles into the middle of the bench, letting N move off for adequate reach, and his feet hesitate over the pedals.

"Okay, uh," Touya says, and rests his hands on the starting chord. He learned this song from N— one of his many original compositions, but it’s the one Touya likes the most. It’s only around three minutes long, and it’s a tiring enough piece, but it feels like cracking the sky open. The way it flows like water over rocks, smooth and ebbing, and the lilts of its grace notes make it truly difficult but rewarding. N had played it for him in an empty conservatory once, and it felt so piercing, so achingly beautiful that Touya had decided he wouldn’t give up on learning piano, if only to play this once.

He’s learned, though. There are still moments where he fumbles, but the song sounds less like a jumbled melody and more like what N originally composed. Although he could never play it the way N does, the way only the composer can, N seems to love the quieter, more hesitant sound of Touya’s rendition.

He starts, a roll of his hands, moving over the chords. The pace of the first ten seconds is faster in N’s version, but Touya’s is elongated, his hands less dextrous and more tentative. He still has trouble with the grace notes, the trills on some of the melodies, so he keeps the rhythm slower until the required build. Before he knows it he’s swaying, the way he always does as he plays; his body dips, turns as his hands run across the keys. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip, concentrating.

Then he notices that N has disappeared from beside him— the familiar weight on the other side of the piano bench is gone. He doesn’t think too hard about it, moves into the verse, legato twelfth notes. A long breath echoes through the room, and he’s not quite sure if it’s his or N’s— wherever he is.

It’s only around the middle of the first verselike movement that Touya notices there’s something amiss— that the sides of his legs are hot, pressing against a warm body— and then he feels his zipper come undone, and he _knows_. That _bastard_. The door is _open_ , too. Touya’s hands stutter on the keys, briefly, and he feels N’s hot breath of a laugh against the bone of his hip.

“You…” Touya mutters under his breath, before the careful build, and then the cold air gusts against the insides of his thighs. He doesn’t need the left or center pedals— N should be thanking him for that— so his legs are spread apart easily, warm thin hands pressing against his knees. He feels N leave a kiss at the inside of his upper thigh, and he _trembles_ , his hands slipping and hitting a wrong note.

Then N takes him into his mouth, and Touya chokes on a cry, breaking his flow and causing his fingers to twitch, almost shifting a key down in surprise. The sound is off, now. Touya’s concentration is flapping its wings, trying to escape, but desperately he holds on to it, pedaling into the final movement. N’s lips close around him, and his tongue skirts up the underside. Touya narrows his focus, slows his playing so he can continue it at all. He knows N won’t let him come if he stops, of course.

“Ah,” he whines, through his teeth. The swaying of his body details a counterpoint to the involuntary movement of his hips, unsettles him, breaks his legato. His fingertips feel numb, his face burning, but he can’t let himself stop, he won’t—

The final crescendo fades, Touya’s trembling fingers ghost over the higher octaves as he brings the song to a close, and he lets a staggering breath fall from his lips when his quivering leg manages to hold the last sustain. Panting, flushing, he slumps over the keys. Any more, and he could break.

“Good,” N whispers, in praise, and lightly scrapes his bottom teeth along the length, and Touya can’t tell if it’s that or the sound of N’s pleased affirmation that sends him over the edge.

 

* * *

 

“I have to say,” N grins, as he leans Touya against the lid of the piano, “it did have an interesting key change to it.”

Touya is bare, stripped down, wavering under N’s gaze. He’s still heaving from his earlier release, but N’s fingers are curling slowly within him, and the heat in his face and his groin has failed to disappear.

“It’s because… you were… _ah_ , god _dammit,_ N,” Touya stammers. He doesn’t even need to finish his sentence. N’s breathy chuckle is low against his skin. “Up a little— oh, _fuck,_ that’s—“

“Wonderful,” N murmurs, the tips of his fingers insistently stroking, and it has Touya gasping, weak and quivering over the black wood. “Hm,” he muses, and Touya’s moan breaks in his throat. “Would you spread out a bit more for me, Touya?”

Against the lacquered surface of the piano, N has Touya pinned, boneless in his arms. Touya opens his legs wider, shamelessly, across the lid of the keys, and N’s hands rest around his shoulders. “Please,” Touya whispers, so quiet he can barely hear himself, but N doesn’t miss it. He eases himself forward, slowly, one hand gentle and warm on his cheek, the other cradling his lower back. Touya moans, squirming, but N stills him, stroking his thumb across his cheekbone as he hilts himself entirely.

“Sing now," he whispers, breath hot against Touya's ear. “Sing for me."

Touya lets out a quavering moan as N moves his hips, slowly.

“The door-- it's open-- ah," Touya gasps. N mouths, gentle, insistent, at his neck, then takes his face in his hands and looks directly into Touya's eyes.

“Ignore it. Look only at me."

Touya twists like a flower at N's voice; any fear he might have had of being caught is replaced with desire, the need to keep his eyes on N. He can’t complain-- N's face is flushed red, eyes half-lidded in lustful fascination, and Touya gets the feeling that he's not the only one losing his composure here.

“Keep... your eyes... on me," N breathes. “Your focus... on what I do to you."

Touya can't complain at all. N is thick, searing hot within him, lighting up every impulse and instinct Touya has, and his lips are wet and red from kisses. A strangled note, something off-key but strangely pleasing, rises from his throat as N angles his hips differently, brushes over something throbbing and sensitive. The piano creaks under Touya's weight, but his body is alight with sensation, and he can't even tell. N lifts one of Touya's arms from around his neck, kisses each knuckle one by one, reverent and tender as he moves inside him. He peers up at Touya through hooded eyes.

“I wish... to hear you."

N's voice is tight in his throat, strained with need. At his words alone, Touya's head tilts back, and a sweet, melodic moan falls from his lips. N's thrusts are still slow, rhythmic, but the particular sound of Touya's cry causes a chemical reaction within him, and his hips jolt forward hard, burying himself deeper. Touya's voice is high and ecstatic in response. It spurs him on, clutching at Touya's waist and pulling him flush to his hips, and the feedback loop slowly brings N into a frenzy. He's relentless against Touya's weak spot, his rhythm now offbeat and frantic, and Touya throws his head back, long brown hair pooling over the black lacquer surface.

“N— that’s— so good, please, _please_ ,” Touya moans, bucking his hips forward feverishly to meet N’s pace. He’s falling apart, effortlessly, coming to pieces, eyes fluttering open and closed. N watches his face, grips Touya’s waist hard as he pistons his hips, leaving white afterimages in his skin.

Touya’s senses are overwhelmed. His eyes blur, his vision swims; everything he hears seems like it’s muffled underwater. “Beautiful,” he hears N say, a refrain against his skin. _Christ,_ Touya thinks, but even his thoughts are muddled, blotted out with sensation. _I feel like I’m losing my mind_. His hands grasp N’s hair, long and thick— he pulls, unwittingly, and N gives a yelp and bucks hard into him, leaves him dizzy and gasping for breath.

“That’s,” N pants, but doesn’t finish his sentence; instead, he lets Touya take fistfuls of his hair and _pull_ , lets Touya’s nails rake down his back, lips coming together for a clumsy, almost bruising, kiss. The reaction is instant— he thrusts forward so hard that the piano _rocks._ Touya shrieks, buries his face in N’s chest, and his gasps blur together into one long, melodic moan as he comes completely apart. N follows shortly after— it’s not a sensation that sends him careening over the edge, it’s the sound of Touya’s voice there, the most beautiful voice in the world.

 

* * *

 

The piano is a mess.

Touya groans, slumps into N’s arms, refuses to get up by himself. N thinks it fair that Touya shouldn’t have to do most of the work here, so he cradles Touya's lithe form in his arms, sets him on the couch across from the piano.

“God dammit N,” comes Touya’s angry pout, as N reluctantly wipes down the black lacquer surface. “Come cuddle me or I’ll freeze to death.”

“Won’t you wait a moment?”

“Nope,” Touya mumbles, and turns over on the couch.

“At least let me bring you your clothes.”

“Mrrghhh.”

N picks up the scattered items of clothing from the wooden floor. He has no idea how Touya’s shirt landed on the lamp, or how his pants, which N had _certainly_ taken off under the piano, are now kicked into a corner of the room. He gathers them into a pile, places them neatly on Touya’s chest.

“Almost done,” he sighs. “Let me at least get you to a bed.”

“You wouldn’t have room on this couch anyway,” Touya laughs, his voice still throaty, and then he sneezes.

“No, you’re right, I wouldn’t. Come on. Let me help you up."

 


End file.
